


Bucky Barnes has a cold

by asgardianpirate



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, snippet without any actual plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardianpirate/pseuds/asgardianpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was August 1938 and Bucky Barnes has a cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Barnes has a cold

**Author's Note:**

> A random snippet I wrote when I had a terrible cold myself.  
> Could be read as platonic, slightly Steve x Bucky if you squint.

It was late August of 1938, the air of Brooklyn balmy and heavy, and Bucky Barnes finds himself, wildly, to be the sick one of the two. He’d caught the flu going around the workers from the docks, and couldn’t smell a thing through his own nose.

The bird outside their apartment chirped twice, and Bucky reluctantly sat up to rub the heels of his hands in his eyes. “Aw, God, Steve, my head’s grown bigger since last night. I can feel it.” he groans.

“Your head’s just fine, Buck. Looks the same size to me.”

“Shove off. Can’t you be nice to the man for once, he’s got to go to work with this big head of his.”

Steve turned, kettle in hand, a half amused half concerned look on his face, “Don’t go, then.”

“You know I can’t.”

* * *

 

Bucky entered the room to find Steve already asleep, his small frame rising and falling in a relaxed and steady rhythm. He toed off his work shoes and undressed silently in the half-light from the window, crept into the bed and drew the covers to his chest.

Bucky lay on his side and pillowed his left arm under his head. Almost immediately tiredness oozed from deep within his bones and submerged each and every thought trying to bubble to the surface. He surrendered himself to the welcoming unconsciousness of sleep, and felt the warmth of his own fevered breaths passing his lips grow faint and distant.

It was late August of 1938, the air of Brooklyn balmy and heavy, and Bucky Barnes almost felt content with life.


End file.
